Additional Reporting By:
by Samantha14
Summary: A chance meeting on an airplane puts two old acquantainces in an awkward situation. But they are determined to make the best of it. Plus, he charms her. Ramble On fic.
1. The Lion Sleeps Tonight

**Title: **Additional Reporting By…  
**Chapter 1: **The Lion Sleeps Tonight  
**Summary: **A chance meeting on an airplane puts two old acquantainces in an awkward situation. But they are determined to make the best of it. Plus, he charms her.  
**Pairing: **Ramble On (Rory/Dave)  
**A/N**: Inspired by "She's So Halogen" by Tinuviel Henneth. Well, the pairing. And the pairing name. The idea just comes from my tiny head. Extra special thanks to **Mandy**, for reading and telling me it's fabulous, because I can always use that.

* * *

She rushes through the airport, pulling her small travel suitcase along behind her. She is late, and she curses herself—it is her fault, no matter how late the interview ran. She arrives at the gate with a minute to spare, and thrusts her boarding pass at the stewardess's face.

"Thank you," the woman says with a fake smile, ripping off whatever she needs to rip off and sending Rory on her way.

"Thank you," Rory responds breathlessly, and then vaults down the jet way. When she enters the plane, she realizes with dismay that the plane is full, and she is the last one to get on. She edges down the aisle, trying to find her seat—a window seat, like she always gets. When she arrives at seats 24A and C, there is, of course, someone in the aisle seat. She stows her luggage in the overhead compartment, and then slams it, hoping it will shock the guy in the aisle seat. It doesn't, and she has to get his attention another way.

"Excuse me," she says softly. He has headphones on, however, and is lightly tapping out a rhythm on his knee. She leans down and says, "Excuse me!" in a slightly louder voice, and shocks him when he opens his eyes and sees her.

"Oh, God," he screams, practically jumping out of his seat. "Oh, do you need to get in?"

She nods, and allows him to go past her, so that she may squeeze past his seat and settle into hers. He sits back down, and before putting his headphones back on, says, "You scared me half to death." When she looks at him, he raises his eyebrows and nods. "Just wanted to let you know."

"Thanks." Rory nods, and then goes about stowing her laptop and purse under the seat in front of her. She pulls a book out and sets it on her lap, before fastening her seat belt and arranging her hair so that it falls over her shoulder. She then pulls out a stick of gum and inserts it into her book, right next to her bookmark. She makes sure her seat is in the upright and locked position, and then does the same to her tray table. She stops moving for a second, and makes a face like she is going to sneeze. Instead, she yawns and sniffles, and then dives back down towards her purse to pull out a tissue, with which she daintily wipes her nose.

The guy watches her do all of this with an incredulous expression on his face. As she opens her book and sticks the gum in her mouth, he finally decides to speak.

"Do you _always _do that?" he asks, startling her this time.

She jumps, slightly, and then turns to him. "No, I don't. I don't always need to sneeze."

"Oh." He nods. "Okay." He faces forward again, and presses a button on his armrest to restart his music. Unfortunately, he has a habit of singing aloud. He starts a few seconds into the song, with the chant, "Oh-whim-a-whey, oh-whim-a-whey, oh-whim-a-whey, oh-whim-a-whey," and then starts in with the falsetto verses. "In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight. In the jungle, the quiet jungle, the lion sleeps. Wheeee-eee-ee-e-dum bum baway. Wheee-eee-ee-e-dumbumbaway."

Rory, mortified, finally pokes him and startles him from his reverie.

"What?" he asks, slowly pulling his headphones off.

"Could you _not _sing 'The Lion Sleeps Tonight' at the top of your lungs? 'Cause that'd be great."

"Fine," he says, not a little petulantly. He yanks the headset jack out of the hole in the arm and shoves them in the pocket of the seat in front of him, and then leans back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest, and a scowl on his face.

"Are you _four_?" she asks, appalled.

"No, I'm _twenty_-four," he says, which actually makes her smile a little. It's been so long since she met someone her age that she can't resist saying, "Really? Me too."

"That's nice," he says, still staring straight ahead.

She sighs, sorry that she's made him so mad in such a short amount of time. But that whole singing thing was _really _annoying; she had no other choice.

She leans back in her chair, too, and starts reading, chomping away on her gum like there's no tomorrow.

Dave sneaks a look at her out of the corner of his eye, once he's sure that she's engrossed in her book. She looks so familiar, and he just can't put his finger on it. She doesn't look like a rocker—she is too smart for that—and those are the only people he's been around for the past four years.

He is a professional rock star, without a name for himself, and he has worked long and hard to get that way. He left his own unnamed band when he was eighteen, to go to California for college. He couldn't be without music for too long, so he put out flyers advertising himself as an all-around guitarist for any and all gigs available. Pretty soon, he was in three or four bands as a temp fourth or fifth or sometimes even third member. He was still going to school, but only lasted for eighteen months before he realized he could count the number of times he'd gone to any of his classes on two fingers. So, he unceremoniously dropped out and took a quick trek back East to look for his own unnamed band, who were on a Christian tour for three months, his ex-girlfriend's mother told him. Amazed by the turn of events, he returned to California and became known in the rock underground as _the _go-to guy for replacements. So he travels around the world, touring with bands when necessary, and appearing in gigs if ever he happens to be in town. He can make a living by receiving a fifth, fourth, or even a third of the pay—so far, every band has been fair. He has never once made it into the studio, because studio days can always be postponed, while some gigs cannot. He has made it onto TV once or twice, most notably with Green Day—Billie Joe is a performer and not so much a musician when it comes to crowds, and Dave always takes his place in the music, while standing in the background, away from the cameras.

But he did get to visit _Saturday Night Live_, one of his biggest dreams as a kid. Well, that, and playing CBGB. He has yet to make it to CBGB, but he hopes when he settles down and has his own band they can send in a demo tape and he can make it to CBGB.

The plane levels out, and the lead flight attendant chirpily informs everyone that they can pull out their portable electronic devices, including laptops and portable CD players. Dave watches as the familiar girl next to him pulls out her laptop and begins typing away. After almost two minutes of incessant typing, she suddenly stops, and just drums her fingers on the keyboard, obviously blocked. He smiles, and leans closer to her and asks, "Is this like _Forces of Nature_? Are you writing your vows? Should I be worried about pigeons flying into the wings?"

She suppresses a smile, and looks up from the intro to her interview and says, "You know, I don't know you that well, but I think there may be something wrong with you."

He laughs, and watches as she laughs too. She's got a great smile, and her deep blue eyes twinkle when she laughs. He decides to take the plunge, and hopes that they've never met as he extends his hand and says, "I'm Dave Rygalski."

She stops laughing, and looks at him more seriously. "You are not," she says softly, hardly believing it herself. It definitely is; she sees that now.

He lets out a slight chuckle, worried that he's done something to make this girl stare at him like this. But he doesn't remember anything—he's having a hard enough time trying to remember her.

"Rory Gilmore," she says after a minute, and takes his hand in hers.

"You are not," he repeats at her, starting to grin. "Wow. I can't believe I didn't recognize you. I mean, you looked familiar, but—"

"God, this is so weird," Rory says, shaking her head. "What are you doing on a plane from LA to New York?"

"Well, I live in LA, but I'm going to New York to play back-up for one of Everclear's television performances."

"Really?" she asks, interested.

He mentally shakes his head—this is a girl from his past, one who knew him when, and she's pretty, smart, and genuinely interested in him. He hasn't actually had a girlfriend—or date—since Lane.

"Yeah, I'm actually the go-to guy for back-up. I mean, I've never seen the inside of a studio, but I'm always in live performances, for the really good bands who want to have the same album sound while still being live."

"Wow. That's so cool." She laughs, realizing that she has somewhat slipped into her interviewer mode. "I mean it, that really is cool. I don't do anything like that."

"What do you do?" he asks, with a smile. For some reason, his smile makes her melt, just a little, and she can see why Lane fell so head-over-heels for this guy.

"Um, you know how in magazines and newspapers at the end of a huge article it'll sometimes say 'Additional reporting by' and then list some names?"

"That's you?" he asks.

"Yep, glamorous job that it is. I'm currently freelance and only get jobs through my agent, who sorta sucks. I live in New York, and she can't find anything for me to do there. But what can you do?" Rory shrugs.

"God, is New York an awesome place to live in? I always just visit, and I can't imagine living there."

"It really is awesome," Rory grins. "Whenever I'm home, I try to take advantage of it. I am a member of a few museums, I'm always at CBGB, and I've even second-acted a couple of hit Broadway shows."

Dave shakes his head. "You've second-acted shows?" he asks, incredulously. "That doesn't sound like the Rory Gilmore I know."

She smiles. "It's all my mother's fault. The first time she visited me, I was complaining about money, but she really wanted to see _Wicked_. Instead of treating me, which was what Luke offered to do, she made us second-act it." She shakes her head. "It was really cool, and amazingly easy to follow." She smiles. "Of course, I read the book, and Mom and Luke were really confused, but I liked it. So, I did it again. Twice. But different plays."

"And?" he asks. "Anything good?"

She shakes her head. "Nothing right now." They lapse into silence, not entirely comfortable.

"So," he says after a minute, "your mom and Luke are together?"

"Five years. They just got married."

"Wow." Dave is quiet for a minute, and then snorts. "Took them long enough."

"That's what everyone says."

They fall into an uncomfortable silence again, and this time it is so long that Rory turns back to her computer and starts typing up notes again. Dave sits uncomfortably in his seat, wishing he could find a not-creepy way to tell this girl he wants to see her again. He feels uncomfortable, he is sure, because the last time he spent any time with this girl, he was very in love with his girlfriend at the time—who is, of course, Rory's life-time best friend. He is almost entirely sure that if he spends enough time with this girl, with whom he feels some connection, he can forget entirely about his first girlfriend.

Rory pauses in her typing, feeling Dave's eyes on her. She surreptitiously glances over, and notices that he's staring at the seat in front of him, unconsciously tapping his fingers on his knee.

She lets out a quiet "Huh," which forces him to look up and catch her eyes. He forces a smile, and then goes back to staring at the seat in front of him.

She bites her lip, and wonders if she was wishfully thinking she felt Dave's eyes. This thought shocks her, and she sits back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. She is not entirely sure, but she thinks that she likes her best friend's ex-boyfriend. The guy who was _perfect_ for Lane. She tries to rectify the situation by telling herself that she just likes the fact that she has someone to talk to, someone who knew her when.

Dave suddenly turns to look at her, and quickly says, "Look. I'm performing at _Saturday Night Live _tomorrow night. They gave me a ticket, but I don't really know anyone in New York, so…will you come?"

Her eyes light up, and he is delighted to see it. After a minute, though, she restrains herself and simply says, "Okay."

He nods. "Okay." He returns to staring at the seat in front of him, before grabbing his headphones and plugging them into the armrest again. "I promise to not sing out loud," he says to her, before leaning back and closing his eyes.

She watches, and suppresses a smile as he resumes slightly dancing in his seat. She's been charmed, there's no doubt about that.


	2. Normal Like You

**Title: **Additional Reporting By:  
**Chapter 2: **Normal Like You  
**Summary: **A chance meeting on an airplane puts two old acquantainces in an awkward situation. But they are determined to make the best of it. Plus, he charms her.  
**Pairing: **Ramble On (Rory/Dave)  
**A/N**: Everything about Art Alexakis and the running of Saturday Night Live is made up. I have never met Art and know nothing about him, other than the fact that it has come to my attention recently that he is conceited enough to cause Craig and Greg to leave the band. So I have formed my own opinions. My ideas about SNL, however, come from the short span during which I was obsessed with the show, with sources like Live from New York and all the anniversary books and shows. Anywho, thanks to all my readers and especially to my reviewers. Read on, please, and enjoy.

1.

She rushes around her apartment, half-dressed and barely made up. She is wearing jeans and her flirty lacy pink Victoria's Secret bra--the one Lorelai bought for her last Christmas, convinced that Rory should look nice for anyone who should happen to see her bra. It has, of course, been shoved in the back of her closet for over a year and is only now seeing daylight.

She stops, suddenly, in front of her hall closet. A _jacket. _She has forgotten she needs a jacket.

She mutters expletives and springs back to her bathroom, where she hurriedly makesup her second eye and touches up her lipstick. She stares at her hair in the mirror, longer and flowing and falling out of the curls she set it in an hour ago.She looks at the clock--one hour until the time printed on her ticket. And she still has to get into Manhattan, and the city traffic sucks on Saturday nights.

She strolls to her closet and picks out a white dress she's never worn before, tight and reavealing around the chest area and flowing down to mid-thigh. She starts to check the mirro, and then desides against it, knowing that if she does she'll be home for at least another forty minutes. As she checks for her shows, she rememberes that it is cold and she was planning on sandals. Sighing, she pulls her jeans up to her knees and slips on her knee-high black suede boots, and then lowers her jeans. She stands still for a minute, realizing she's added two inches to her height and she doesn't remember Dave exactly towering over her. She dismisses the though, knowing that any connection they have that's hindered by height is not a good connection.

She jolts forward, heading for her jewelry box. She decides on no necklace, because it will only draw attention to her cleavage and she's taking the subway. Instead she picks two tiny green stars hanging from ultra-thinsilver chains and inserts them into her ears.

_Almost perfect_, she thinks, trying to remember what's next. She suddenly rushes to her study and picks up a large black bag, like Ally Sheedy's in The Breakfast Club. She dumps it out in the middle of the floor, much like a scene in the movie. When she's done, she realizes that she hates this bag, and the notes for her novel are all over the floor. She mutters more expletives before heading to her hall closet and pulling out her bright red coat and a dark purple clutch. She drops her keys, subway card, ticket, and fifty dollars into the bag, before shrugging into the coat and leaving her apartment.

2.

He stands off to the side backstage, one hand wrapped protectively around the neck of his guitar. He is watching Art flirt with the host, a teenaged IT girl who is only a year or two older than Annabella Alexakis, Art's prized daughter. One eye is watching this grown man make a fool of himself, and one eye is scanning the crowd. He really wants her to be there, and hopes she shows up.

Just as he is thinking that, Rory rushes through the door. She stands there for a minute, breathing hard, and looks around. Dave smiles as her eyes find his, and he walks over to her, leaving his guitar behind. She is beautiful, wearing six different mismatched colors. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold, and her smile grows as he walks over.

"Cold out?"

"No," she says, brushing a few stray snowflakes from her shoulders. "You ready?" she asks, nodding to Art and the host.

He bites his lip, looking a little green around the gills for a few seconds, before nodding slowly. "Yes."

She leans closer to him, smiling, and for a half a second he thinks he will die of happiness.

"Is it your _first time_?" she whispers, her voice dropping even more on the last two words so he catches the innuendo.

He bursts out laughing, which causes Art to glance over with a dirty look.

So Dave leans closer to Rory, who still hasn't moved back. Her voice catches in her throat, and she feels slightly hypocritical because she is secretely here, seeing her best friend's ex-boyfriend.

"You first," Dave whispers, his eyebrows raised.

She sighs, moves back, and nods. "I have to admit, it is my first time being invited to SNL by a professionally unknown rock star."

Dave shakes his head. "Oh, come now. Be truthful. A pretty girl like you?" He shakes his head again. "I can't believe it."

She just smiles enigmatically, and pokes him directly in his chest. "Your turn."

But he doesn't understand, because she has yet to remove her finger, and the pleasant sensation in the pit of his stomach--and almost below--are hard to ignore. Luckily he is saved by Art, who whistles and points.

Rory promptly removes her finger, and Dave sighs, brought back to reality.

"The life of a backup guitarist awaits."

Rory smiles. "I'll watch you the whole time."

He grins. "I'll see how many times I can flip the bird to the camera for you."

"Yes!"

"Bye," he says, holding one hand out in a semi-wave.

"I'll see you after," she calls after him, watching as he grabs his guitar and disappears.

She slowly climbs the steps to the very top, and keeps her eyes on the music stage, ready for him to run on.

3.

They play old songs, but not too old--songs from when Craig and Greg were in the band, but after Scott left. Art is trying to drum up respect for his two new musicians, musicians who were paid to stand in the background after the others got fed up and walked out. Dave always hoped that Art would ask him to be one of his major musicians, if only so that Dave could turn him down; but Art never did, just using him as a background guy when everyone else tried out. Even though Dave can't stand Art in person, his songs are amazing, and it's a paycheck. Dave might make a living, but it's not so comfortable he can turn down such a steady job--when he tours, he tours with Art.

Their first song is newer, from 2000, an instrumental that Dave has always loved. Not only do the two guitars and one bass sound like eight more, but everything has its own part at first, and seamlessly comes together. It's the kind of song that gives Dave goosebumps when he hears it. He loves to play it, and he even loves the name, _Halloween Americana_. That's the proof he uses when he says Art's a genuis.

Dave doesn't look up during _Halloween_; he is too involved in the music. Rory, who is forced to suffer through what she thinks of as Saturday Night Dead with an insipid teenager who doesn't understand comedy, watches only his hands during the performance. They move with confidence, but still manage to convey an admiration for the music and a love for the guitar. She idly wonders what the hands would be like in bed--and then abruptly blushes, putting her own hands up to her face. If she didn't think it were rude, she would pull out her phone right now and call her mother. No, Lane. First, she would call Lane. She feels guilty every time she thinks of her best friend, wondering how she would feel if Lane went out with Dean and didn't tell her. And then she mentally corrects herself--she is not going out with Dave, who surely just took pity on her, his ex-girlfriend's lonely friend living in New York. Yes, that is all this is, a pity date.

Rory feels much better when she thinks this, and is only struck from this line of thought when Dave takes the stage again.

This time, the song is older, _Normal Like You_, a song about medical depression from '97. Dave doesn't like it as much, just like he doesn't like Art that much. He mechanically goes through the rhythm guitar part, keeping his eyes on the crowd and Rory, who is watching him with a serene smile on her face. He tries to arrange his fingers so he is flipping off the camera as much as possible, grinning at Rory when he does.

Art finishes up the song with a slight air of defeat, brought on by the words--back when Dave worshipped Art, he used to think the song said something real. It always started out with admonitions of being "normal", or medicated, and then slowly degenerated into "I can be normal like you," an admission of defeat. Now that Dave knows the real truth about Art, he understands why he never released the song as a single.

When Dave finishes, he sits backstage for a while, just waiting for his chance to run onstage when the show is over, so he can run into the audience and go out with Rory. He has already made up his mind to suggest food, or coffee, two things he always heard Jess equating with Rory, during that brief time when they were dating best friends. He hopes Rory will go with him somewhere. He doesn't want their date to be her sitting in an audience and him sitting backstage. How lame is that?

"Rygalski!" someone yells, shaking him from his reverie. He jumps up and runs onstage with the cast, standing off to the side next to the band as the girl gives her farewells. He only sort of pays attention to what she's saying, keeping his eyes on the audience and that one member he can't wait to greet. The cameras pull away, the music fades, and he sprints up into the audience.

"Hey," he tries to nonchalantly say, suppressing a smile even as Rory's grows bigger.

"You wanna go do something?" she blurts, surprising herself. She hadn't expected Dave would run up to her after the show, hoping there would be time for her to call Lane. But seeing him so happy to see her reminds her that she is just as happy to see him.

He falters for a minute, because she's taken his opening line. But then he grins and looks into Rory's eyes and nods, and she grabs his hand and they rush out of the building ahead of the crowd, ignoring Art's calls for Rygalski to go out and party with them.

_chapter finis_

A/N: Hey, if anyone wants to beta for me for the next chapter (at least) I would be totally and completely grateful...and the next chapter might get out faster. Grazie!


	3. Green Shirt

**Title:** Additional Reporting By:  
**Chapter 3:** Green Shirt  
**Summary:** A chance meeting on an airplane puts two old acquantainces in an awkward situation. But they are determined to make the best of it. Plus, he charms her.  
**Pairing:** Ramble On (Rory/Dave)  
**A/N:** Sorry it's taken so damn long. I was finally bitten by the writing bug and this came out.

1.

They exit the building into the bustling of Rockefeller Square on a Saturday night. They smile awkwardly at each other, the easy banter of before abandoning them. They both feel as if they are on a first date, the worst kind when you have no clue what to say to each other.

"So," they both start at the same time, and then laugh. Rory gestures for Dave to go first, and he accepts with a nod.

"I was thinking, since it's after one on a Saturday night, our options are one, bar, or two, porn show," he says, ticking them off on his fingers. "Personally, I vote for bar, but one far away from here, because it'll be a little crowded."

"Or," Rory starts, feeling a little too bold, "we could go to my apartment."

He raises his eyebrows, a teasing smile playing at his lips. "I suppose that's a possibility as well."

As she thinks about it, she realizes that she will feel far more comfortable on her home turf, and she can sneak away for a few minutes and call Lane. It's perfect. She nods, now determined. "Let's go."

2.

After a tense train ride and a silent trek up the stairs, they awkwardly enter Rory's apartment and stand in the entryway. After a few minutes, Dave suddenly says, "Alcohol. We need alcohol."

"Yes. Fantastic idea," Rory says, heading through her living room towards her kitchen. When she reaches the doorway between the two, she stops, and turns around. "Um, why don't you stay here, make yourself at home, and I'll get...something. Wine, or hard liquor, or something."

Dave grins. "Do you have a stereo?"

Rory waves in a general area towards Dave's left and continues into her kitchen, slightly distracted. She pulls her cordless phone from the receiver and shuts the kitchen door tightly. She presses 3 on her speed dial and proceeds to check her kitchen for alcohol, the phone crooked between her ear and shoulder. She manages to pull out two wine glasses while the line is ringing.

"Hello?"

Startled by the actual voice on the other end of the line, a glass slips from Rory's hand.

"Shit!" she yells, dropping to her knees to pick up the larger pieces.

"Rory?" Lane asks over the phone.

"You okay?" Dave calls from the other room.

"I'm fine!" Rory yells back. "God, I'm sorry, Lane. Yeah, it's me."

"Hi. What happened?"

"I dropped a glass, that's all." Rory throws the larger pieces away and pulls her broom out.

"Was that a man's voice I heard in the background?" Lane asks, slightly teasing.

Rory chuckles nervously, her face reddening. "Yeah, that's actually why I called."

Lane lets out a gasp of delight. "Congratulations, Rory. I'm so excited you have a man over I'm not even going to get mad at you for calling me at two o'clock in the morning."

"You're a rock star, Lane. I never worry about waking you up in the middle of the night. Only the middle of the day."

"Ha, ha," Lane says sarcastically.

In the living room, Elvis Costello starts up, singing about a smart young woman coming into his house every night.

"Hey, are you listening to 'Green Shirt'?" Lane asks. "I love that song. That's actually the song that Dave," Lane laughs, "always liked to make out to. He once told me that he thought women thought Elvis Costello was very sexy." Lane laughs again, and Rory cringes.

"Actually, that's really why I called."

Lane's laughing peters out, and then she asks, "Wait, what?"

Rory pauses in her brooming and squeezes her eyes shut. "I met Dave on the plane ride back from LA."

"Oh, really?" Lane asks, sounding far away.

"And he invited me to SNL, because he was playing with the musical guest."

"Uh-huh."

"And I invited him back to my place and he's here right now."

Lane remains silent.

Rory tentatively opens her eyes. "Lane?" she asks. There is still no answer, so she checks the phone to make sure she's still connected. "Lane? Answer me, please. At least let me know you're still there."

Someone on the other end says Lane's name, and Lane answers. "I'll be right there."

"Lane, you're married to someone else. You broke up with Dave years ago. I just met him on the plane and he was nice and charming and he invited me to SNL and I decided to go but I felt so guilty about being there and not telling you. And we just barely got in, and I don't even know if we're going to get along that well because we've been staring at each other with nothing to say the entire way over here. But we were getting along really well on the plane, he was funny and charming and that's really why I decided to go with him. And to invite him here. Because he was charming."

"I think you like him more than you're letting on," Lane says after a short pause.

"What makes you say that?" Rory asks. She is so relieved that Lane is speaking to her that she continues sweeping.

"Because that was world-class rambling," Lane says, laughing a little.

Rory laughs, too. "I don't know how much I like him," she says truthfully. "When I was getting ready tonight I kept getting that fluttering feeling."

"Oh, I love that feeling," Lane says. "Hey, what song's playing now?"

Dave has turned the volume down, so Rory strains to hear. "I think it's 'I Don't Want to Go to Chelsea'."

"Another classic," Lane says appreciatively. "You should go. I give you my blessing."

Rory smiles. "Really?"

"Yes, really," Lane says. "Plus, I think he likes you a lot, too. I'm telling you, Elvis is his seducing music."

Rory laughs.

"I'm serious," Lane says, albeit through laughter. "If 'Alison' is next, you're in trouble."

"Well, I better go then," Rory says. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Don't let him get away."

"I won't." Rory smiles and hangs up. She finishes around the kitchen, sweeping up the rest of the glass and finally getting together the glasses and wine. She enters the living room as the beginning notes of 'Alison' ring out from the stereo.

3.

They drink too much and talk for far too long, and Dave ends up passing out on Rory's chaise lounge. Rory barely manages to stumble back to her bedroom before passing out herself. She does wake up before Dave does, and she manages to prop herself up at her dining room in the combination dining/living room with a cup of coffee by the time Dave snorts and sits up quickly.

"Oh, fuck," he mutters, pressing a hand to his head.

"Morning," Rory says.

Dave looks up at her and reddens slightly. "Oh, hey. Coffee?" he asks.

"Of course," she says, pointing towards her kitchen.

He gets up and stumbles into the kitchen, making horrible clattering noises and dropping a spoon twice. He eventually stumbles back out and collapses into the seat in front of Rory.

"Where's your coffee?" she asks after a second, raising her eyebrows.

"Oh, it was too much trouble," Dave says, waving a hand. "I decided against it." He shoots her a quick grin, and she feels herself grin back.

"How can you be so chipper?" she asks.

"Practice," he says simply. "I'm a rock star. I've partied hearty, baby." He dances in his seat, but finishes with his head in his hands. "Oh, I'm kidding. I haven't had a hangover in about six years. I'm in hell."

She smiles against her will and reaches across the table to pat his hand. "Poor baby," she says mockingly. He nods, raising his eyebrows and trying his best to look pitiful. She laughs softly, and then walks into the kitchen. There is a minimal amount of clinking, and absolutely no dropping of spoons. She emerges fairly quickly, her cup refilled and a second cup of coffee in her hands. She sets the second cup of coffee in front of Dave and returns to her seat. He scrambles to get his cup, and takes a large sip.

"Just right," he says, smiling.

She smiles back. "I am the queen of coffee," she tells him. "Well, technically, my mother is the queen of coffee. So I'm the princess. But I'm still in the royal line."

He looks at her, thinking. After a second, he stands, leans across the table, and kisses her.


	4. Warning

**Title: **Additional Reporting By:  
**Chapter 4: **Warning  
**Summary: **A chance meeting on an airplane puts two old acquantainces in an awkward situation. But they are determined to make the best of it. Plus, he charms her.  
**Author's Note:** Next chapter will hopefully be sooner. I actually sort of have the next two chapters written. Hint: the next one is called "There's Always Someone Cooler Than You." And the one after that _may_ be called "Goodnight & Go." But maybe not.

Enjoy!

1.

Rory is cleaning. It's not an everyday occurrence, but it's not the rarity that it is for her mother. She believes that she has cleaned within the last month. The last three months, definitely.

But now she is doing it again, if only to keep her mind from the happenings of the last 48 hours.

It's not that she doesn't want to remember. She does. It's just...if she sits around remembering, she'll never actually get to sleep, or to doing anything useful. And she does, eventually, need to finish her article. So she's cleaning, to keep her mind off Dave, and she hopes that it will keep her mind clear long after she stops.

However, as she's sweeping and wiping and organizing, he creeps into her mind, inevitably. It starts with a tiny thing triggering it, like something from her high school days, when Lane was the one in love, and she'll smile a tiny smile, and then keep thinking, about the plane, about the pre-show banter, about the drunken rambling, and pretty soon she'll be grinning and windexing the same three inches of mirror over and over again.

Almost on the verge of giving up this cleaning thing altogether, she sits on the floor in her study and organizes the mess she made of her notes last night. It is stupid, but not quite mind-numbing, so her mind starts to wander, and she's deeply lost in a daydream of what it would have been like if Dave had continued kissing her instead of grinning and running back to his hotel when suddenly her answering machine picks up and the first three drumbeats of Green Day's "Warning" echo through her apartment.

It scares the crap out of her and she screams and jumps and throws every paper in her hand in the air. When she hears the song continue, however, she just smiles and forgets her mess and lays on the floor, letting his voice wash over her.

"This is a public service announcement, this is only a test," Dave sings. It sounds as if he's also playing the guitar, and the only remaining part of the recorded song is the drum in the background. "Emergency evacuation protest. May impair your ability to operate machinery, can't quite tell just what it means to me." He stops singing, but continues strumming as he says, "Sorry if I scared you. I turned the ringer on your phone off last night, and didn't remember until I called you three times this afternoon and you never answered."

Rory starts to get to her feet, ready to answer the phone and talk to Dave.

"Don't answer now; just let me talk. One of these days, you'll be able to sell this tape on eBay. But right now, I'm just gonna ramble."

He plays the tune from "Ramblin' Man" for a second, and then slips back into his soft strumming.

"I had a really nice time with you, Rory. At least, once we had alcohol. I'm planning on doing it again, hopefully with you. Maybe with a little less alcohol. And maybe a little more public. So I was thinking, tonight, I'll pick you up around seven, we'll go to a fancy casual restaurant--I'll be wearing a simple suit, but that's because that's what we rock stars wear nowadays. I heard it's supposed to get cold or something tonight--we don't have cold in LA. I'm thinking cold means 65? It's been awhile since I've lived in the northeast. But after the restaurant, I was thinking we could head back to your place. Or here, but your place has music AND alcohol, and mine just has the latter. So, don't worry about callin' me back, but I'll be at your place at seven, and hopefully you'll be ready by 7:45...I used to hear horror stories about your mother's tardiness, so I'm hoping it's not too genetic. Alright. Thanks for listening. Bye-bye. Oh, and this is Dave, by the way."

There is a click, and then a light on the machine starts blinking. Rory smiles, sighs, and stretches. Seven isn't that long from now. It'll probably take her an hour, at least, to decide what to wear. And if Dave's going to come back here, she'll need to clean up this mess she just made. She starts gathering the paper together, a slight smile playing on her lips. She has another date with Dave!

2.

He is nervous.

Well, that's a stupid statement. Of course he's nervous. He really likes Rory--_really_ really. And it's been a while since he's liked anybody, and he can't quite remember how to act.

But he remembers flowers.

He stands at the bottom of the stairs in her apartment building holding his bouquet. He managed to sneak in without Rory buzzing him in, but now he can't quite get the courage to take the five flights of stairs and surprise her.

He's early. It's only quarter 'til seven, which, granted, isn't that early, but it still feels really early. He paces back and forth for a while, and then he runs up the first flight of stairs. He pauses, very slightly, and then takes the next two flights three steps at a time. When he gets to the fourth floor, he leans over, his hands on his knees, and pants. He checks his watch. Ten 'til seven. He stands up and races up the next flight of stairs. He doesn't allow himself to pause when he gets to the top, and instead finishes the trek, sprinting up the fifth flight. He continues sprinting down the hall, making a very shocked teenager flatten herself against the wall as he goes by.

He makes it to Rory's door and collapses outside it, breathing heavily, one hand on his chest, the hand with the flowers laying off to the side. He glances at his watch. Hopefully he'll be able to catch his breath in the next eight minutes. Maybe.

He sprawls out a little more, kicking his feet out to each side. He absentmindedly knocks his empty hand on the door, and then rearranges his tie so it falls straight down his chest, instead of skewed to the side. He reaches up one hand to tousle his hair, hoping it'll dry a little (damn him for sweating) and then knocks his hand on her door again.

She sits on the couch, having been ready for twenty minutes already, and her ears have already picked up the first halfhearted knock. Now there is a second, and she worries for a minute that perhaps he is sorry that he asked her out tonight. Perhaps he's dreading it, and can't bring himself to knock like a normal person. But when the third knock (though it really sounds like a kick) comes, she can't help but stand up and open the door, even if he's dreading it so badly.

She almost laughs when she sees him--the looks that pass over his face when she opens the door are hysterical.

After the initial shock and embarrassment, he finally just grins at her, remaining on the floor but reaching up with the flowers. "Ready to go?"

She (barely) suppresses a smile and takes the flowers from him. She lays them on the table near the door and reaches for her coat and purse. "Ready when you are."

He jumps up lithely, dusts himself off, and offers an arm. She laughs, reaching up quickly (while she dares) and running a hand through his hair, calming down what he'd set on end. He grabs her hand as it comes down, staring at her with an intensity she didn't expect so early in the evening. He leans forward, and then pauses. His eyes flick from her eyes to her lips and back again, and then he closes the space between them, dropping her hand to grab her face as he kisses her deeply. When they part, he is grinning like a schoolboy. She grabs his hand, and they walk down the stairs and out the front door.


End file.
